


The other side of the line

by highfunctioningsupersoldiersociopath



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anxiety, Gen, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 15:16:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21120890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highfunctioningsupersoldiersociopath/pseuds/highfunctioningsupersoldiersociopath
Summary: Bucky can't discern the amount of time that has passed since you ended your relationship with him, but he still holds out hope.





	The other side of the line

Bucky woke up to the pale morning light filling the bedroom. He lay there for a moment, relishing in the heartwarming fact that he hadn’t woken up in a sweat with monsters rioting throughout his mind. The first night in a while meant progress, right? He took in the way the illuminated dust danced gracefully on the air, undisturbed. Taking a deep breath, preparing to get up and make the most of the day now that it had started well, he rolled onto his side to face the other side of the bed.

He had forgotten it would be empty.

The sudden weight of longing and loneliness crashed down on him like a tonne of bricks, deflating his mood and he rolled back over to brood at the ceiling as his heart shattered just a little more.

He should be preparing for his run with Stevie. Recently, he had started to look forward to when the sun would start to creep over the horizon as it gave him the opportunity to get out of the apartment he had shared with you, the silence had become oppressive and the air stuffy, reminders of you he can’t bring himself to remove because of this stupid hope that you’ll come back.

But you had given him an ultimatum and he had ignored it. He hadn’t thought you’d meant it; every time there was an argument you would storm out of the building for some air no matter the weather, but you would always come back. This time you hadn’t. This time you had left with a duffel bag of clothes and belongings and the slam of the front door still echoed in his mind and haunted him just as much as the ghosts of his past.

He had crossed a line that he couldn’t return from.

Steve was just about to set off without him when he arrived at their meeting spot. His friend had commented on how he looked like he had actually slept for once, but Bucky’s deep-set scowl shot down the jest and they set off in silence. He easily kept pace with Steve but once they joined Sam at the end of their run, he quickly made his leave, giving his running partner a quick pat on the back, not in the mood to deal with the jabs and biting sarcasm of Steve’s new friend.

The ping of a message alert was loud above the dull thumping of his heart, blindly navigating the streets yet to be filled with the bustle of the rush hour with ease as he withdrew the Stark-phone from the pocket of his sweatpants, nimbly unlocking it and reading what was displayed on the screen. The tension that left his shoulders was visible, the gears in his mind working their way through the possible options for surviving the day before he left for his newly assigned mission that evening, knowing that he wouldn’t have to hit the gym to be able to punch something.

When he returned back to his building, he went through the motions as if his brain was on autopilot. He walked straight past the lift and climbed the stairs like there wasn’t another option, then unlocking the door and nodding at the neighbour who was just leaving for work (she was cute but she wasn’t you) before kicking his trainers off and leaving them where they landed, he tossed his water bottle onto the barren kitchen counter before stripping out of his sweat-drenched clothes and heading to the shower. You hadn’t left behind any of your shampoo that he liked to use but that was fine. It was all fine. He didn’t want to be surrounded by the lingering scent of you anyway.

By the time he had packed his bag with military precision, it wasn’t even midday. There was a clock ticking somewhere in the distance but he hardly found it in himself to care as he dropped the bag at the end of the bed before collapsing on the rumpled sheets he hadn’t bothered to fix before he left. The same patch of ceiling he had stared aimlessly at earlier mocked him for his hopeless fantasy that at any minute you’d come waltzing through the door with an apology on your lips.

Drawing him from his spiralling thoughts was the obnoxious sound of a rotary telephone which meant his actual light-weight and portable phone was ringing. He hadn’t had the heart to change it, allowing Stark the pleasure of calling him an old man. Because he is old, and sometimes he wonders what you ever saw in him. You: someone who was so full of life and knew their way around this century somehow saw something in _him_. But then you’d clearly seen something that had driven you out that door and away. Just_ away_. And he didn’t know where-

The number was unknown but when he answered the news that was delivered sent a chill straight down his spine. It made him forget the anxiety helter-skelter his thoughts were slowly spiralling down and spring into action.

If Howard were still alive, he thought with a twinge of guilt, the guy would sure be proud of how far his son has come. Especially in the technological department, but despite the numerous visits to Stark’s lab, mainly due to a malfunctioning arm, he had yet to see a flying car. He’d have to bring that up next time, maybe make a special request if Tony was in a good mood. It would certainly have made his journey to a hospital in the next State over a lot quicker, particularly when he joined the congested highway and had to watch his speed.

If the journey to the hospital hadn’t been trying enough, when he had arrived, the visitor parking was absolutely packed. Then some moron had to go ahead and swipe the bay he was eyeing up. It had already taken long enough to get over here and now he had to trawl through the row of parked cars for another space? A flame ignited in his gut and he banged a frustrated fist on the steering wheel while cursing to high hell and back under his breath.

Buying a card from the gift shop and swiping a pen from the front desk wasn’t on his list of things to do today but neither was getting a phone call from the hospital, the woman on the other end informing him that you’d been involved in a car crash. Your condition was stable but they were unsure about when you would wake up from the induced coma they’d been forced to put you in. He was your emergency contact. You hadn’t changed it. That meant something, right?

Five minutes later and a rushed conversation with the nurse on duty at the reception, he was waiting as patiently as he could in the elevator up to your floor. The scowl he earned from the elderly woman (who was probably most definitely younger than him) for tapping his foot to some unknown rhythm could wait and would soon be forgotten when he saw you.

Unfortunately, you weren’t lucky enough to have a private room, but there was a curtain surrounding your bed, a faded plastic chair to one side, sitting in front of many monitors, including one he recognised to be recording your heart rate. Surely that constant beeping it emitted would be annoying to the other patients? Maybe they’re also in comas. He dismissed the thought as he approached the small table on the other side of the bed, closest to where he had entered the curtain and stood the card on top of the envelope, making sure you’d see it.

He didn’t want to be there when you awoke but _Lord_ you looked pale and was he just imaging the hollowness of your cheeks and eyes or was that just because they were pumping loads of fluids into you? The cut running down your forehead and through your eyebrow, stopping just above your pallid eyelid looked like it would scar, but not badly. The sheet and blanket pulled up to your chest probably hid injuries he couldn’t see (like broken ribs and a possible punctured lung) but the cast that encased your arm and wrist was the next thing to catch his eye as he examined you from a safe distance. You’d be so frustrated that that was your dominant hand and he couldn’t help but smile softly at the thought of you ranting about the pains of having to complete tasks with your non-dominant hand or arm to anyone that would listen. But not in an effort to gain pity. You wouldn’t want anyone’s pity; you’d just want to… make them _aware_ of your suffering.

He struggled to tear his gaze away and his heart ached to hold and comfort you but he had ruined his chance at doing that and enough time had passed that he forced himself to turn on his heel and exit your little area, drawing the pale green curtain behind him with a soft click.

He would get back just in time to leave for his mission, which would hopefully take you off his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I could keep this going for another chapter or two, so if you'd like that, please drop me a line!  
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
